


Like the Sun Fades (Slowly, All at Once)

by sassy_cissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Community: hd_erised, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gay Male Character, HP: EWE, Hand Jobs, Healer Harry Potter, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, Post-Hogwarts, Potions Master Draco Malfoy, Professor Draco Malfoy, Romance, Teaching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-01-30 21:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12661368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassy_cissa/pseuds/sassy_cissa
Summary: When Draco chose to teach at Hogwarts, he never expected to fall in love. But he did. Falling slowly, like the sun fades into each sunset.





	Like the Sun Fades (Slowly, All at Once)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lolneptune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolneptune/gifts).



> All my undying love to B for everything she did to make this story happen and to make it so much better. To C for all brilliant advice and the title and to Z for listening to me ~~bitch~~ discuss things when the boys didn't want to cooperate. And to the Drarry squad for the sprints that kept me motivated. And to the mods for simply being so awesome. All mistakes are my own, as I couldn't leave it alone after the final beta.

The sun shone brightly through the window of Draco's flat and across the parchments spread out on the desk. He sat in his favourite dark brown leather chair, eyes glancing back to the desk and then to the book he was trying, unsuccessfully, to read. Two weeks before he'd finished his studies and been awarded his Master of Potions degree from the Claude Bernard University in Lyon, France. The programme had felt impossible at times, and more than once he considered telling his professors to _kiss his arse_ , but now the past five years felt like a walk in the park compared to the decision of which job offer to accept. While they were both excellent opportunities in their own right, neither of them felt like the challenge he'd been hoping for in a career. He set the book on the small table beside his chair and sighed, walking to the desk. He picked up the parchments and looked at them one more time. 

One offer was to head the graduate students in the Research Department of Claude Bernard. It would keep him at the university, the place he'd called home for the last five years. The other would take him back to England. Draco'd been more than shocked to receive an Owl from the Ministry of Magic offering him a job as the Head Potions Analyst in the new Forensics Department the Ministry had recently created. 

He dropped the parchments on the desk, stretching as he walked to the side board. He selected a bottle of Firewhisky and poured a healthy measure into a tumbler. He was about to sit at the table and ponder his options, when he heard tapping at the window. Setting the glass on the table, he hurried over to open the window. No one other than his mother wrote him with any regularity and he'd just heard from her the day before. A large brown owl he didn't recognise flew gracefully in the opened window and settled on the back of Draco's chair.

"Now who do you belong to?" Draco asked the bird, as it offered its leg. He untied the parchment, carefully stroking one finger over the silky head. "There's some treats in the bowl on the perch," he said gesturing to a stand in the corner. "Horace will be back shortly, but he's fairly amenable to sharing his perch with visitors." 

The owl settled on the perch, ate a few pellets and drank some water. Then turned, spreading his wings so that he clipped Draco on the side of the head as if to say, _rest is for wimps_.

Draco chuckled as he closed the window, and sat at the table. He lifted his glass but stopped when he turned the envelope over. On the back was the unmistakable wax seal of Hogwarts. Draco set the glass down again and turned the envelope over and over in his hands. 

"Who'd be writing me from Hogwarts?" he asked the empty room. He slid his thumb under the flap of the envelope, watching the red wax seal break into pieces. The parchment inside was thick and good quality. He unfolded it, his eyes immediately scanning to the bottom of the page. His jaw dropped when he saw the distinctive signature of his old Transfiguration teacher. 

_Why in the name of Merlin would McGonagall be writing to me?_ he thought before flitting his eyes to the top of the page.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_Please allow me to offer my congratulations on your recent appointment as Potions Master. I always felt that given the opportunity you would excel in whatever area of study you chose._

_That being said, I'm also certain that you are currently exploring a vast array of employment opportunities. I would like to add another prospect for you to consider. I hope it is not too late to offer you a position at Hogwarts in the fall as our new Potions Professor. I realise this is perhaps not as glamorous as other offers may be, but I am hopeful you will give serious consideration to my proposition._

_If this position appeals to you, I have set aside Sunday afternoon for an interview at Hogwarts. Once I have received confirmation of your desire to discuss this further, I will send an approved Portkey that will bring you directly to the gates outside the grounds._

_Looking forward to your reply,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 

Draco sat back in his chair, completely flabbergasted. If he thought that the employment offer from the Ministry had been a surprise, this one was a total shock. But intriguing, he had to admit. He took a sip from his glass. Was he really considering teaching as a profession? A smile crossed his lips when he thought about his first Potions professor, Severus Snape. He heard Snape's voice in his head from his very first potion's lesson at Hogwarts. _"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."_

 

He looked at all the offers before him. Two of them carried a prestigious respect that he'd been seeking to finally put the war behind him. But as he considered his options, something kept drawing him to the opportunity to return to Hogwarts as a professor. A chance to erase the stupid, foolish things he'd done when he was there before. And maybe, just maybe make peace with his past once and for all.

Draco picked up his quill and penned a quick reply. 

_Headmistress McGonagall,_

_Thank you for your offer. I would very much like to discuss it further with you on Sunday afternoon._

_I look forward to seeing you soon._

_Draco Malfoy  
Potions Master_

He re-read the parchment before rolling it and sealing it with wax. The sound of wings drew his attention to the window. He hurried over to open it again as his eagle owl, Horace, flew in and straight to his perch. Draco hurried over and tied the note to Horace's leg.

"I hope you're up for a journey. I need this to go to Headmistress Minerva McGonagall at Hogwarts. No dallying on the trip there, but stay overnight in the Owlery to rest afterwards."

Horace nipped affectionately at Draco's hair before flying off into the dark.

Draco picked up his drink and sipped as he watched until Horace had become a speck in the sky. Sometimes, he thought, closing the window, life dealt you bit of a decent hand.

~~@@~~

Draco landed right outside the tall, wrought iron gates at the entrance to Hogwarts. It felt odd to have to wait for his signature on the smooth rock to the left of the gates to be recognised as someone who was welcome. Once the gates opened, Draco hurried through the courtyard and into the front hall where he was greeted by the Headmistress.

"Mr Malfoy," she said, in her Scottish lilt. She held out her hand to him. "I'm very pleased you agreed to speak with me."

Draco shook her hand. She looked basically the same as she had when he left Hogwarts after finishing his _eighth_ year. Except around her eyes. She looked a bit more tired that she had five years earlier. "I'll admit your letter took me by surprise. Pleasantly, but I had no idea you were in need of a new potions professor."

"It was a sudden thing," McGonagall replied. "Our current professor found himself in a spot of trouble." She shook her head. "Apparently he appreciated Thestral racing nearly as much as potions. He should have stuck with potions; he was an unmitigated failure at gambling."

Draco snorted out a laugh. "I suspect that could be a problem."

McGonagall nodded. "If you'll follow me, I thought we'd talk in my sitting room. I'd prefer not to have an audience while we visit. However, when we're finished, if you'd like to go chat with Severus…"

"I'm not sure I'm prepared for that confrontation. I'm sure he'll have much to say about my chosen profession. And I suspect it might not all be favourable."

Minerva led him down the Transfiguration corridor and stopped outside a door that Draco wasn't sure he'd ever noticed before. She stopped and tapped an intricate pattern on the wood before turning the knob and opening the door. "I think you might be quite surprised on that matter, Mr Malfoy. I have it on good authority that Severus is quite proud of you."

Draco followed her into the small sitting room. It was cosy without being cluttered. The predominant colour was not scarlet, but soft shades of tan accented with what was obviously her tartan plaid. There were two chairs in front of the fireplace with a tea service set up on the table between them. 

"I've tea. I hope spending five years in France has not turned you into a coffee drinker," she said, not bothering to hide her distaste.

"While I do enjoy coffee," Draco replied with a laugh, "there's still nothing like a good cuppa."

They sipped their tea in silence and Draco could feel his anxiety growing, just as McGonagall spoke again.

"Are you seriously considering my offer, Mr Malfoy? Or were you simply curious to see what I had to say?"

Draco paused. "A bit of both, I suppose. As I said before, I was quite surprised by your offer. And yes, I imagine I did want to hear what you had to say. So I'll begin." He set his cup down. "Why me? I have quite a past with Hogwarts and not all of it is good."

Minerva smiled. "The past is just that, Mr Malfoy. The things that happened while you were a student and during the war are history. I've followed your educational path, as I have several other former students. As I stated in my letter to you, I expected you would do great things and I'm pleased to say I'm not disappointed."

Draco was nicely surprised. "I'm glad you expected me to succeed. There were several times in the last five years when I questioned the wisdom of my career choice."

"Are you entertaining other job offers?"

"There are two that I find particularly interesting," Draco replied. "But…"

McGonagall tilted her head and raised a brow. "But what?"

"But I'd like to hear more about what you have to offer."

She folded her hands in her lap. "As you know, the position is for Professor of Potions here at Hogwarts. Along with your teaching duties, you would be responsible for providing the hospital wing with the necessary day-to-day potions and anything else that may be needed. I'd also like you to become the Slytherin Head of House."

Draco's head shot up in disbelief. He'd been expecting to provide potions for the hospital, but Head of House? That was another surprise.

"Are you sure that's a wise move?" Draco rubbed a hand self-consciously over his Mark. "My appointment as a professor will no doubt raise more than a few eyebrows. Head of House could cause parents to withdraw their children."

"Again, your past does not concern me. We did not fight so that old prejudices could be continued. I will not tolerate anyone, student — parent or — staff, to prohibit our moving forward. Acceptance has always been and will always be the way of Hogwarts, Mr Malfoy."

They continued their discussion, covering salary, staff duties with the students and days off. "Do you have any questions right now, Mr Malfoy?" The Headmistress sat back in her chair, smoothing her robes. "I understand it's quite a bit of information to digest, so I've taken the liberty of having an official contract drawn up. I'd like you to take it with you, review it and hopefully sign it."

Draco felt pleased. "I was hoping you'd not expect an immediate answer. As I said, I do have other offers I'm considering." He accepted the large parchment tucking it under his arm. "I appreciate some time to consider the options. But I'll have my decision no later than the end of the week, if that works for you."

Minerva gave him her consent and handed him a small silver spoon. "Your Portkey will activate in fifteen minutes, unless you'd like to stop in my office and speak to Professor Snape?

Draco shook his head. "Perhaps another time."

Minerva gave him a small, understanding smile. "Then fifteen minutes should be more than enough time for you to be outside the gates when it activates."

"Thank you, Headmistress." Draco's voice was soft and sincere. "Not just for the job offer, but for your faith in me."

She walked him to the door and patted his shoulder. "Faith was never a problem. I look forward to hearing from you soon, Mr Malfoy."

Draco took his leave, the Portkey activating minutes after he stepped outside the gates.

~~@@~~

Two days had passed since Draco had been to Hogwarts to discuss the offer to teach there. Sitting at the dining room table, he spread all three contracts out and pulled a piece of parchment towards him. He'd decided to list the pros and cons of each offer. He started with the offer from the Ministry. In the _Pro_ column he wrote: prestige. In the _Con_ he quickly added: under Ministry control and restricted from experimentation.

He tossed down his quill with a sigh. This was accomplishing nothing. He knew he would be able to debate the good and bad of each offer. What he needed was someone who would let him vent. The problem was anyone whose opinion he trusted was what felt like half a world away.

He was about to go pour himself a drink when his fire roared to life. Draco paused, not quite knowing who to expect. 

The fire flared green and then a face popped into view. "Malfoy," the voice called out, "you old cock-sucker, where are you?"

"Blaise?" Draco said in surprise, kneeling quickly on the hearth. "What the fuck?"

"Hey, is that any way to greet your best friend?" Blaise gave Draco a wry look. 

"It is if you've no fucking clue why said friend is in your Floo on a Tuesday night, when you've not heard from the prick in three months," Draco shot back, but there was amusement in his tone.

"If you'll back your skinny arse up, I'll come through and explain."

Draco scrambled to his feet and his oldest friend stepped into the room and pulled Draco into a hug.

Draco slapped Blaise on the back, then pushed him back giving him a long steady look. "Now what in the name of Merlin's saggy testes are you doing here? Just felt like an international Floo visit?"

Blaise shook his head. "I had to come to Paris for a meeting with the French banking council and decided to take a few days for myself. I spent the evening with a lovely bird I picked up in a bar and when she left late this afternoon I decided to Floo over to Lyon and see what my supposed friend, who can't be arsed to write, was up to."

"Wanker," Draco muttered under his breath. 

"Not last night," Blaise shot back with a laugh.

Draco shook his head. "It really is good to see you, even if you are the world's biggest arsehole for not letting me know you were in France. You know I love Paris."

"I know," Blaise replied, "But I really didn't feel like exploring the bar scene in Lyon. I wanted to catch up and see how you were doing now that you're officially a big, fancy Potion's Master."

Draco motioned to the sofa. "Sit, I've plenty of alcohol here. What can I get you?"

"Depends," Blaise said quickly.

"On?'

Blaise laughed. "On whether or not you're going to let me sleep in your guest room tonight. There's no fucking way I'm going to start drinking with you, Malfoy, and try to Floo back to the Paris Bristol when I'm pissed. Salazar knows where my arse will end up and it's far too lovely to be whirling around trying to find my hotel."

"You're such a drama queen, Zabini. Yes, your _lovely_ arse can sleep in my guest room tonight. Now pick your poison."

"Scotch, neat, and as soon as you have yours, you can explain this." Blaise gestured to the parchments all over the table.

Draco poured them each a drink and sat on one of the leather chairs. He took a sip of his Firewhisky before he spoke. "Those are the offers I'm considering."

Blaise arched a brow. "Offers? Well look at you!"

Draco shrugged. "Oh like you don't have a great job that sends you all over the world negotiating deals for them." He waited until Blaise nodded. "There are pros and cons in each of them."

Blaise leaned forward. "Some super-secret potions creator in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Not hardly," Draco said dryly. "It's probably the last job, in the most unlikely place you'd ever expect to find me working."

"What, like you're going to be a teacher?" Blaise laughed, then stopped when Draco didn't join him. "Oh holy fuck, you're going to be Snape!" Blaise took a deep drink, his eyes wide. "At Durmstrang?"

Draco scoffed. "I am not going to be Snape." He paused and grinned wickedly. "Although the thought of terrifying brats is appealing. And no, Hogwarts."

Blaise set his glass on the table and began to laugh. "Merlin! To be a lacewing fly on the wall during your first lesson teaching the Gryffindorks!"

"However," Draco said firmly, "I've not made up my mind. I really need to consider the other options as well."

"If you must," Blaise acknowledged. "So what are the other offers?"

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Staying here and heading the graduate department. It would be such a great challenge. I'd have time to do some research and a plethora of students to help. Then there's the job at the Ministry, working with the Auror department in the forensics lab. It's a chance to show people that I'm not my father." Blaise nodded. "Plus there's prestige in both."

"Doesn't really sound like you want to do either of them, you know. You talk about them like they're just a job. Not something that you particularly want to spend the rest of your life doing." 

Draco sat up in his chair. "I have to admit it was quite surreal to receive an Owl from the Headmistress at Hogwarts. I damn near fell off my chair when I read her letter and she offered me the position as the Potions Professor."

"Did you go there for the interview?"

Draco nodded. 

"How'd that go?" Blaise asked with genuine interest.

"Brilliant. It's different from when we were there. So much of it had to be rebuilt after the war," Draco's face clouded with those thoughts, "but walking through those huge wooden doors into the entryway... it felt right."

Blaise shook his head. "Draco. Listen to yourself."

"What?"

"For fucks sake, man. You practically glow when you talk about Hogwarts. Don't be an arse. Owl McGonagall and tell her you accept. You don't want those other jobs." Blaise's voice grew low. "You always said Hogwarts was more home than the Manor after that abomination moved in."

Draco nodded. No matter what he tried to tell himself about wanting a job that gave him power and status, nothing else he'd consider made him feel like he did when he'd talked to McGonagall. In that moment he realised that no matter how much time had passed, how many things happened in the past, no place felt more like home to Draco than Hogwarts. 

"Well fuck me," Draco said, his mind made up. "Say hello to Hogwarts's new Potions Professor."

"I'll pass. Ta ever so." Blaise laughed. "Salazar help those poor students." He leaned over and clinked his glass against Draco's. "To new opportunities. At old, familiar places."

Draco wondered just how familiar Hogwarts would be. He knew that war had caused severe damage to large areas of the castle and he'd seen a few of the changes that rebuilding had caused. But then how could it ever feel like it once did, when his days had been filled with being Potter's rival?

~~@@~~

The next morning Draco rolled over and groaned. "Oh fuck me, why did I drink so much?" His head felt like several dragons had taken up residence inside his skull and were currently battling their way out. He sat up slowly and inched an eye open just enough to look at the bedside table and sigh in relief. "Oh thank Mordred," he mumbled, grasping the phial of hangover potion he had the foresight to set out the night before. Yanking the cork out, he drank the bottle in one large gulp. Sitting very still, Draco felt almost immediately better. The pounding in his head subsided and the wave of nausea he'd been feeling was almost past.

After a shower, he went out to the kitchen and made a pot of tea and an enormous pile of buttered toast. One thing he remembered about Blaise was that he consumed nearly a loaf of buttered toast after a night of drinking. And they'd drank and caught up until nearly half two. He heard the shower in the guest room and was glad he didn't have to get Blaise up and moving. While he waited for his friend, Draco found a piece of parchment. Smiling he wrote to the Headmistress and accepted the position of Potions Professor and head of Slytherin house.

Her reply came back quickly. She had included copies of lesson plans from the last Potions professor. McGonagall suggested that Draco look them over and spend some time making any changes he'd like to the programme. As a new teacher, Draco noted he was required to move into Hogwarts on August first.

~~@@~~

Harry stepped through the Floo and into his rooms at Hogwarts. He looked around, happy to see the house-elves had been in to dust and straighten before his arrival. Harry loved being the resident Healer for the school but appreciated having time off in the summer to travel and visit his friends. Shortly after the war Harry had purchased a villa in Costa del Sol. Before he'd decided to become a Healer, he considered spending much of the year there. But then he'd watched a Paediatric Healer with Teddy when the boy broke his wrist falling over Andromeda's evil cat, Sebastian. The Healer had been amazing, distracting the boy while he set his wrist and Harry decided that was how he wanted to spend his life. Now he spent a few weeks at the villa every summer with Andi and Teddy, relaxing, but he was always glad to return to the only place he'd ever really considered home.

He'd shocked everyone by graduating top of his class from medical school, Hermione in particular, then aced his residency in paediatrics at St. Mungo's. Madam Pomfrey's decision to retire happened at the perfect moment, right when he was looking to set up a practice. Now, he couldn't imagine practicing anywhere but Hogwarts, with its Quidditch injuries and spell damage. And as McGonagall had told him, since they'd nearly renamed the hospital wing the Harry Potter wing while he'd been a student, it seemed fitting he was working there now. 

Harry took some time to unpack in his quarters and then headed out to the hospital wing to start setting things up. It was hard to believe that the students would be back again in a week. Pushing through the doors to the large room with its rows of neat beds gave Harry a thrill. He loved the hint of antiseptic in the air and the crisp white sheets on the narrow beds. He knew it wouldn't be long before those beds would be in use; you couldn't have a castle full of children doing magic and flying around on brooms without injuries. But he hoped it would be a fairly quiet September. 

Moving to his office, he stopped in front of the warded cabinet that held potions. He waved his wand in a fairly complicated movement and felt the wards fall. Opening the doors, he saw the state of his potions and sighed. It was then he remembered that he'd let the stock run very low at year end. The previous Potions professor was, in Harry's opinion, a knucklehead whose potions were mediocre at best. Harry'd spent much of last year brewing the simple ones himself, just to be certain they'd work. 

He quickly wrote out his list, all the while wondering who the Headmistress had found to replace Mayhew and hoped to Merlin whoever it was had a brain in his head. List in hand, Harry decided to make his next stop the Headmistress's office and find out first hand if he needed to start brewing potions again.

Walking down the wide hallway and rounding the corner, Harry was nearly to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmistress's stairs. He scratched the back of his neck, wondering if the password was still the same. Harry began to ponder what it might have been changed to when he heard the unmistakable sound of the stairs groaning into motion and saw the doorway open. 

Harry stopped and stared.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked. 

"Got it on one, Potter," Draco replied with a shake of his head. "Not much gets past you, apparently." 

"I'm just surprised to see you. Here. At Hogwarts." Harry knew he sounded like a git. What was it about Malfoy that made him feel like he was eleven years old again?

"Well, I suppose I might say the same to you." 

Malfoy eyed him warily. "What are _you_ doing here, Potter?"

"I work here."

"Of course you do," Malfoy said. "Defense Against the Dark Arts, I suppose. Or perhaps Quidditch coach?"

"You surprise me, Malfoy. Have you been living under a rock? I can't imagine you missed the uproar when I began to study to become a Healer."

"I've spent the last five years in France, actually. And you? A Healer?" Draco pursed his lips. "Although, I suppose that does fit your Saviour complex."

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. "So what are you doing here?"

"I work here," Draco mimicked. 

Harry stared. "Since when? Doing what?"

Draco bristled. "I'm the new Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin house."

"Potions Professor? I mean I know you were good in Potions, but…"

"I've a Master of Potions degree from the Claude Bernard University in Lyon, Potter. Contrary to what you may believe, I'm actually very good at brewing potions. Exemplary, according to my Master's instructor."

Harry lifted his chin. "Well, my instructors at the Magical Institute of Britain thought I was quite good at paediatrics." A small smile curled his lips. "Exemplary, even."

They stared at one another, and finally Malfoy's full lips (and when was it Harry noticed the man's lips were full, and pink, and rather alluring) curled in a slight smile. The change it made in his still pointy face was startling, and Harry felt a surprising warmth in his chest. 

"I have a proposition for you, Malfoy," he said, then felt his cheeks heat when one of Malfoy's brows arched in a sly motion, his head cocking slightly.

"Not that kind of proposition," he mumbled. Malfoy's eyes moved from Harry's head to his toes and back up again.

"Pity," he said dryly. He braced his hand on his narrow hips, holding back the sides of his black robes. "So, tell me this proposition of yours."

"Okay, as long as you don't mock me."

Malfoy's replying expression was amused. "I'll endeavour to reserve my mockery."

"Git. So, here's my idea," Harry said. "I won't be an arse to you, if you can keep from being one to me. If we're both going to work here, it makes no sense to try to make each other miserable. And if you're the new Potions Master, we're going to have to work together."

Malfoy frowned for a moment, then the expression resolved into one of understanding.

"Ah, yes. Potions for the students in the hospital wing."

"Exactly. And frankly, I'm delighted we have a new person brewing potions. Mayhew was a hack."

"Mayhew? Merlin's balls, what was he doing here?"

"Trying to poison someone, or so it appeared."

Malfoy's face underwent another transformation, and Harry realised he was trying not to laugh. Finally, apparently unable to help himself, he chuckled.

"So, how badly depleted are your stores?"

"Extremely," Harry answered. "Dangerously, once the little twerps get on brooms for Quidditch. I generally let them run down at the end of term, but I was brewing most of them myself near the end of the year and kept very little on hand."

"Twerps, is it?"

"Trust me, it won't take you long to arrive at the conclusion that we could never have been as dim as some of these kids."

Malfoy's mouth twitched. "Oh, I don't know. I roomed with Goyle, if you'll recall."

"And I had Finnigan."

The shared an amused smile. Finally Malfoy seemed to shake himself. "Let me check my supplies, and then we can get together and compare notes."

Harry felt a startling pleasure. "That would be... good."

Malfoy nodded. "I'll be in touch."

"You know where to find me."

Malfoy gave him another lingering look. "Indeed I do."

He turned and walked away, and Harry watched him go, admiring the cut of his dark robes, the breadth of his shoulders. It wasn't until he was gone from sight that Harry realised he no longer needed to see the Headmistress. 

The next week passed quickly. Harry spent much of his time in the hospital wing, airing things out and preparing for the coming year. Fortunately, Malfoy proved to be quite proficient and had filled the stores with all the potions Harry had requested. Harry would be lying to himself if he said he wasn't just a bit curious about this _new_ Malfoy, but the man never stopped to visit. He just delivered the potions and salves, mostly without a word, and went back to the dungeons.

At meals, Harry's attempts to sit next to Draco were thwarted by McGonagall's seating plan and before he knew it, they'd arrived at the welcome feast and he was sitting at the front of the Great Hall, clear on the other end of the long teacher's table from Malfoy.

The Sorting went without incident and Harry enjoyed watching each new student sit gingerly on the stool, hat perched on their head, waiting for the declaration that would determine their house for the next seven years. It seemed so long ago that he'd sat on the stool chanting _not Slytherin, not Slytherin_ over and over. Not for the first time Harry wondered how different things might have been had he not sorted Gryffindor. 

Finishing his last bite of treacle tart, Harry sat back to listen to McGonagall introduce the new professors. The new Ancient Runes professor, Edmund Baggybottom, and the new Potions professor and head of Slytherin house, Draco Malfoy. While Baggybottom received a smattering of applause, Slytherin house quite enthusiastically welcomed Malfoy with loud applause and cheers. Harry smiled down the table as Malfoy stood and nodded. 

Harry tried to catch Malfoy after the feast but saw that he was following the Slytherins to the staircase that led down to the dungeons and decided it might be best to try to talk to him in the morning. With a sigh, not sure why he was so disappointed, Harry turned and headed up the Grand Staircase that led to his own rooms.

Harry had never been much of a morning person, despite the impossible hours during his training, and found himself running late the following morning. He was rushing behind a group of sixth years into the Great Hall when he heard them mention Malfoy.

"God, Emily, I know he's a Malfoy and was a Slytherin. But he's so hot!" Ellie Greer told her friend. "I wonder if he's married?"

The girls turned off toward the Ravenclaw table and Harry missed Emily's reply, but from the way their heads were close together and the unmistakable shoulders shaking from what were probably teenage-giggles, he suspected Emily thought the same thing.

Harry looked up at the head table where Draco sat in his black Potions Master robes. His blond hair fell to just below his ears, soft and loose and his patrician features were cool and composed. Yes, Harry thought, Draco Malfoy had grown into quite an attractive man. The angles of his youth had changed into chiselled lines that gave the man a very aristocratic air. A very sexy, aristocratic air.

~~@@~~

Draco settled his Slytherin scarf around his throat while studying his image in the mirror hanging on the back of the door in his quarters. It was a Saturday near the end of September, and Slytherin Quidditch try-outs were taking place on the pitch in – he glanced at the clock on his desk – less than an hour. As head of Slytherin house, he thought he should represent and see if there was any talent on the team. Once the scarf was settled into folds he found attractive, he checked his hair one last time and the shoulders of his grey robes, to make sure they fell just right to accentuate the breadth of his shoulders. When he realised what he was doing, he rolled his eyes and gave himself a knowing smirk. He doubted the resident Healer would be on the pitch; each team had their own time scheduled for try-outs. Gryffindor wasn't until that afternoon, and the Healer wasn't head of house at any rate. And the idea that he was even having thoughts about where Potter might be and adjusting his wardrobe and hair accordingly was just wrong on so many levels it didn't bear consideration.

However –

However, the ruddy bastard had grown up very nicely, and when Draco found himself staring at the bright green eyes only made more so by his green Healer's robes, he was both annoyed and transfixed. When Potter was wearing jeans instead of robes well – that was a damn fine, perky arse under the denim. Draco checked his hair one last time, then shook his head in irritation and swept out of his quarters and down the stairs into the potions classroom. 

Every time he felt the modified cape attached to his shoulders catch air he thought of Severus, and it always brought a small smile to his lips. One of Snape's portraits hung near the arch just inside the classroom door, but the stately chair he'd been painted in was vacant. He and Dumbledore were probably having their morning chat over tea. He'd seen the old man a time or two and fortunately portraits didn't seem to hold a grudge. Which was lucky for him, he thought as he walked out into the hall. Very lucky. There were several new portraits on the walls of Hogwarts, victims of the final, seminal battle. So far, all any of them had done was bid him hello. The one of Vince outside the Room of Requirement had caught him off guard, but Crabbe had been so happy to see him that Draco had remained to chat for a few minutes.

The hallways were full of students, out of uniform on the weekend. He eyed much of their wardrobe with disdain; for the most part they looked like thorough ragamuffins, but there wasn't much he could say about it on a Saturday. During the week, Slytherins were always well turned out with ties neatly tied, shirts tucked in and robes pressed. Their head of house insisted on it, and there had already been enough points taken for a mis-tied Windsor that they knew he wasn't joking. Gryffindorks might wander around looking like an unmade bed, but Slytherins. Would. Not. He doubted it made his students love him, but he didn't care. He'd patterned his teaching method after Severus, instilling terror whenever possible. It wasn't hard to do – he was horrified by the chaos Mayhew's shabby teaching methods had created. Basic knowledge should be based on year. The first years were the only ones who didn't feel like their potions teacher was trying to kill them with homework, catching up on what they'd missed. And the classes heading in to O.W.L.S. and N.E.W.T.S…. well, it was a good thing he didn't care if they liked him or not. They didn't.

He had just begun to descend the steps into the main entry hall when he heard his name called from behind him. 

"Professor Malfoy, sir?"

He sighed internally when he recognised the voice. Corinne Middlemas, sixth year Ravenclaw. She had an almost painful crush on him, and spent most of her double Potions class staring at him with great calf eyes. She was actually a competent student, which was probably the only thing saving her from his sarcasm. 

"Yes, Miss Middlemas?" He waited for her as she and her best friend, a lumpy girl named Everett from Hufflepuff, hurried down to him. Oh, Merlin; Everett was eyeing him as if he were a cream puff and it was nearly tea time. He bit back a sigh. Salazar save him from crushing teenagers.

"Sir, I was wondering if it would be all right if I read ahead to our next chapter in the Dangerous Potions text book?" One of Draco's brows shot up. "Oh, not to actually do anything," she quickly assured him, her face turning pink. "I'm just curious."

"Me, too," Everett said quickly. Middlemas sent her an annoyed look, and now Everett was blushing, too. Draco didn't roll his eyes, but it was a near thing.

"I have no objections to students reading ahead," he said, earning a bright smile from the petite blonde. "As long as I don't find anything suspicious missing from my stores."

"No, sir. You won't. I promise." She nearly bounced in place.

"No need to turn yourself inside out, Miss Middlemas. Now, if you'll excuse me, I was heading out to the pitch to watch try-outs."

"Oh, we were, too," Corrine said, smile widening. "Do you mind if we walk with you?"

He did mind, very much. But what was he to do? Tell them to bugger off? He shrugged noncommittally, and they fell into step beside him. He hurried his pace and stretched out his long legs, knowing it was childish that he was amused by the fact they had to nearly run to keep up. He'd make sure they got their exercise by the time they'd arrived at the pitch. And the pace made sure they were too out of breath to pepper him with questions.

It was a glorious day; the sky was a brilliant blue and the waters of the lake, stretching out into the distance, shone in the sun. A breeze whipped up white caps along the shore and sent the first of the fallen leaves from the dark forest skittering across the vast lawns. The flags above the pitch waved, red, green, gold and blue, and the tarps covering the towers snapped against the now metal framework. They'd done a beautiful job rebuilding the pitch after the war. The field was bright green and perfectly groomed and the new, expanded stands were full of students watching the try-outs. Mostly girls, Draco noticed, and he took pains to distance himself from them, including Middlemas and Everett, who stopped near the bottom, winded, and finally took the hint by leaving him alone. 

He stood against the furthest railing, the castle rising up on one side and the mountains on the other, the breeze stirring his hair, and took a deep breath. Merlin, he loved being here. He'd enjoyed Lyon and his years of study there, but the UK was home. And truth be told, Scotland and the old castle were even more home to him than the Manor. He doubted his father's house would ever truly feel like home again. He wasn't sure why, but Hogwarts didn't have the associated baggage Malfoy Manor did. It could be because the dark menace had so thoroughly taken over his home that his father had all but disappeared, or it could be because he hadn't actually been able to follow through on killing Dumbledore but he'd participated in things at the Manor he never wanted to think of again. All he knew was that finding the castle restored and renewed had healed something in him, too.

A sharp voice caught his attention and he looked toward the centre of the pitch. Oliver Wood hovered there in sharp black flying robes, shouting instructions to a small group of students on a motley assortment of brooms, listening to him keenly. He was holding a Snitch in his right hand, the small gold wings barely visible against his dark glove, and gesturing with his left. His broom sat at such a secure angle it might as well have been rooted in place and attached to the ground. Totally aside from having one of the best bodies Draco had ever seen (and he'd seen plenty in the showers), Wood always had been an excellent flyer. It was clear nothing had changed. 

Draco couldn't hear what Wood was saying clearly, but after a few minutes intense instruction, he released the Snitch. Draco leaned forward instinctively, gripping the railing. He had no trouble following the small gold ball's flight pattern, but the students on the brooms apparently couldn't say the same. They took off in different directions and Draco nearly laughed. Good Lord, they were hopeless. Wood shouted at them, pointing to where the Snitch fluttered teasingly right above the centre hoop, as if it was taunting them. Which, of course, the bloody thing was doing. It was all Draco could do not to roll his eyes. 

The kids shot off in a beeline for the Snitch, and Wood released two Bludgers from the box on the ground with a wave of his wand. The flyers dodged them easily, chasing the little golden ball as it flashed in and out of sight, circling the towers, forcing them into a dive almost to the ground, then leading them all skyward again. Draco was surprised to find that after their initial ineptitude they weren't hopeless, after all. And he recalled it did take some practice to be able to see that tiny, gleaming ball. Especially on a day when the sun was as bright as it was this morning.

One of the flyers, a petite girl with a long skein of sleek black hair, was amazing on a broom and made the boys look like flunkies. She was brilliant, and Draco tried to recall her name. Belinda? Bethany? Something with a 'b'. It had barely been a month, after all. He couldn't be expected to remember all of them yet, even the Slytherins. He admired her skill as she lifted one hand from the handle of the broom and leaned out, the Snitch inches from the tips of her fingers. Draco held his breath, a smile spreading over his face. She was going to catch it; he could almost feel the cold metal of the little ball in his hand and his heart was racing. Gods, the rush of that. He'd never forget it.

That was when he saw the small black ball approaching her with a shocking rush of speed, and he opened his mouth to shout a warning. Wood did it at exactly the same moment, alarm in his voice. There was no time for Draco to pull his wand, no time for anything other than a startled shout of her suddenly remembered name. The Bludger caught Beatrice in her ribcage, knocking her from her broom. She fell to the ground like a sack of sand, landing with an audible thud. 

He was down the stands so quickly he didn't remember doing it later. He launched himself over the barrier fence, landing on his feet and running to the small crowd growing around the child. She looked so tiny laying there, her face shockingly white against the green of the grass. She was still conscious, her blue eyes so wide only a small rim of white showed all around her iris. She was struggling to breathe and tears pooled in her eyes. Draco pushed the other students aside and dropped to his knees beside Wood, who was leaning over her. 

"It'll be all right Beatrice," Draco said in a low, comforting voice. "Try to breathe shallowly." He drew his wand. "Expecto Patronum!" A wispy hawk burst from his wand and hovered in the air expectantly. "Healer Potter," he said firmly and the bird swirled in place before disappearing. 

Beatrice was making gagging sounds, one of her hands flailing. Draco realised that she was staring at him, and instinctively he caught the hand in his. "You'll be all right," he said, leaning close to her, staring into her eyes. "I promise, you'll be fine. But you must try to relax, Beatrice. It will help. Slow, shallow breaths, like this." He demonstrated. "Can you do that, dear? Can you slow your breathing? Here, I'll do it with you. In, then out. In, then out." Gods, he wished he had some sage, or plantain leaves. Both would help her breathe easier. And feverfew, to help calm her. All of his potions were in the castle, in his store room. But it was far away, too far away. 

He heard a rush of wind and a high end racing broom approached, Potter astride it. Draco had a startling rush of memory, a true déjà vu moment, only now Potter was in a green robe instead of Gryffindor Quidditch gear, and he was holding a small black bag in one hand. He didn't even land the broom, just hopped from it as it neared the ground. 

"Back, please. Everyone back."

He didn't even have to raise his voice and the small crowd around them backed off to one side. Potter knelt opposite Draco, looking down at Beatrice and making a soft, shushing sound.

"Easy, Bea," he murmured. "It'll be fine. Trust me."

"You do house calls on a broom?" Draco asked, bemused. Potter spared him a brief smile.

"It's the quickest way to get here from the hospital wing." He pulled a small bottle from his bag. "I'm going to give you a bit of this, Beatrice, all right? Tastes of peppermint. If you hate it, blame your Potions Master."

Bea looked up at Draco and her fingers tightened around his hand. 

"Lovely, Potter," Draco replied, intentionally keeping his tone light. "Blame me in advance. I swear to you, Beatrice, it's very tasty." He had no idea if it was or not. He assumed Potter was giving her either Breathe Easy or the soothing draught; they both had essence of peppermint in them. With hands far steadier than Draco's, Potter held up the bottle and pulled a precise amount into the glass stopper, then leaned over and placed it against Beatrice's lower lip. It had turned an alarming shade of light blue, and Draco looked up at the other man in alarm.

"It'll be fine," Potter said to the girl, gently massaging her throat. Draco watched the almost hypnotic motion of his fingers, the nails short, neat, impeccably clean. "Just swallow, Beatrice. It'll all feel better. That's a girl." Almost as soon as the words left his mouth the small girl relaxed, her eyes rolling up as she fell unconscious. Even knowing what the potion would do, it was a bit frightening to watch. 

"Do I need to notify her parents?" he asked Potter.

Potter had pulled his wand from his sleeve and was waving it gently over her slender body. Several symbols that Draco didn't immediately recognise appeared above her, floated for a moment, then disappeared. 

"Just a couple of broken ribs and a slight concussion," Potter said. "Minerva will take care of that, if it's necessary, but the injuries are relatively minor."

"Good," Draco said emphatically. He had no desire to talk to any of the parents. Ever. He gave Potter a sardonic look. "But I'll blame you if there are any complications."

Potter grinned absently. "Of course you will."

At some point a stretcher had arrived and it floated behind Potter, at the ready. He stood and Draco went to do the same, only then realising that Beatrice's fingers were still locked around his hand. Potter looked at them, and lifted amused eyes to Draco's.

"Looks like you're going with us to the hospital wing."

Draco strove for a dry tone. "So it would appear."

~~@@~~

Draco had been transported to the hospital wing from the pitch more than once during his school years, but the direction Potter levitated the litter was not what he remembered. He said as much as they went past the grand staircase to an alcove behind it.

"When the castle was rebuilt, it added a lift directly to the hospital."

Draco gave him a sharp look. "The castle added a lift?"

Potter's eyes were level. "You find that surprising?"

Draco stepped into the large lift revealed when the wall shifted, watching as the wall closed behind them and the whole of it moved beneath them. It was smoother than most lifts, and absolutely silent. 

"I guess I really don't find it surprising, after all." Draco admitted softly. 

"I think it was added because of all of the casualties during the final battle, and the fact they had to be laid out in the Great Hall because the hospital was so far away. The access to it was completely blocked by collapsed hallways." Potter looked pensive as he leaned against the wall. "Minerva told me that every person lost during the battle added their magic to the castle's. Not that they all haunt it, which is a relief…"

Draco shuddered. "Thank Merlin. I don't fancy my mad aunt turning up in my quarters."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Voldemort." 

Draco felt an icy cold slip down his spine. "No. Merlin. That would be horrifying."

"The way Minerva explained it, the castle was able to absorb the magic without the intent. That way it's just raw magic, accentuating what's already there. Haven't you noticed how beautiful the restored sections are?"

Actually, Draco had. Even in the Slytherin quarters, with the underwater chambers and the windows that looked out into the Black Lake weren't nearly as cold as they had been before. The damp that seemed to infuse everything from the furniture to the student uniforms was gone. And the mold that clung to the stone walls had disappeared. Draco had never put it together but now that he thought about it, he could see what Potter was talking about.

"That's fascinating. I always knew the place was sentient, but it never occurred to me it could act like a … giant sponge. It's actually a bit creepy."

"Oh, I don't know," Potter replied. "If I could choose a place for my magic to go when I died, I'd be proud for it to be Hogwarts."

Potter straightened away from the wall just as the one behind him slid to the side, revealing the doors to the hospital wing. Draco hadn't even felt the lift stop, and he admired the seamlessness of the new magic. The litter began to move, and Draco, who was still attached to Beatrice's hand, was forced to follow along. Potter smirked.

"Would you like for me to fix that?" He gestured to Beatrice's hand. Draco thought about it. 

"Can she feel me holding it?"

Potter looked thoughtful. "Possibly."

"Then, no. If it helps her…"

Potter gave him an inscrutable look, then directed the litter to an immaculate cot next to what had once been Pomfrey's office. Which, Draco realised, must be Potter's now. 

Draco watched as Potter used his wand to remove Beatrice's Quidditch leathers from her chest and back, sending them to stack neatly on a nearby shelf. He did another diagnostic scan with his wand, watched the different shaped and coloured information that formed above her, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Floating ribs six and seven are fractured." He grimaced. "That's going to be a painful recovery."

"You can't repair them?" Draco asked sharply. Potter's eyes lifted to his face.

"Of course I can," he answered. "There was still a serious blow to her side and the soft tissue around the injury site is bruised. Don't you remember how it felt to fall off a broom?"

Draco grimaced. "Yes, unfortunately."

"I need to check her concussion." Another more intensive scan of her head ensued, and Potter breathed an audible sigh of relief. "This is minor. She'll have a bit of a headache, nothing more. All right, let's get her sorted."

A wave of his wand opened the locked cabinet doors where the potions were stored, and several floated to hover by Potter's side. He gently rolled the sleeve of Beatrice's tunic to above her elbow, turned her arm, then gently touched the pale skin at the crease. A clear, flexible, narrow tube appeared from the bottle of Skelegro to her arm, and he watched the pink potion flow down and under her skin. A syringe floated from another cabinet and hovered by Potter's side, and he took it in hand and turned a small bottle while he checked the label. Draco recognised it as a powerful potion to reduce swelling in soft tissue. Harry inserted the needle into the bottle and pulled the plunger back, withdrawing a dose, then delivered it directly into the tubing, watching Beatrice's face carefully. Draco could see the moment it began to take effect. The child's breathing eased and she rolled onto her good side, cushioning Draco's hand beneath her cheek. He felt his face heat when Potter smiled slightly.

"That's quite enough of that, thank you," he murmured, pulling his hand free but patting Beatrice gently on the shoulder and stroking her braid before withdrawing his hand. 

"Careful, Professor Malfoy," Potter murmured. "You'll put chinks in the whole 'Snape' persona you've trotted out."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco straightened, looking down his nose. He was fairly certain it wasn't nearly as intimidating as he hoped when Potter ignored it.

"Mind you, it's working." Potter sent the bottles back to the cabinet and neatly disposed of the syringe with a wave of his wand. "They're all terrified of you. But you wouldn't want to go around comforting little girls on a regular basis, walking through the castle holding their hand."

Draco realised that Potter was teasing him. He blinked. "I don't suppose I could Obliviate all of them, could I?" he said finally. Potter chuckled.

"You'd have to start with me, and I'm hard to Obliviate." He vanished the litter from beneath her, carefully removed Beatrice's boots, then pulled a light blanket up to her waist. "Honestly, finding out you'd hold a little girl's hand while she's frightened, as far as I'm concerned, is… very attractive."

Draco stared at him, nonplussed and unsure what to say. He swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. 

"You're really very good at all of this, aren't you?" Draco gestured vaguely around the large room.

"Did you think they gave me the job because my name is Harry Potter?" He didn't sound angry; more amused than anything but Draco still felt his cheeks heat.

"No," he said finally. "I assumed McGonagall knew who she was hiring."

"Well, working with you on the potions proved the same about you. Miracle of miracles; we both grew up to become contributing members of society." Potter grinned. "Hermione will do back flips."

Draco couldn't help it; he laughed at the mental image.

As Potter took a step back from the cot and turned to lock the potions cabinet with his wand, his words came back to Draco.

Potter thought he was attractive. 

He felt a little thrill of pleasure he'd never admit to a living soul.

~~@@~~

Draco sat on the big leather sofa he'd added to his living room at Hogwarts. When Severus had lived in the castle, he'd kept his quarters sparse with only two chairs by the fire, one of them fairly uncomfortable. Draco was convinced it had been to keep anyone from spending too much time there. Even Draco never really felt welcome to stay longer than a few minutes.

The previous occupant (Draco refused to say his name aloud), was such a hack, Minerva must have been beyond desperate to hire him. He had taken nearly everything that wasn't nailed to the wall when he was _made redundant_. But Draco suspected he'd have tossed all the furniture out anyway. 

Now the room was filled with a leather sofa in a deep chocolate brown with chairs to match. They sat on a dark brown and green Aubusson rug he'd nicked from the Manor before he left for France. It was one of the few things he had from his childhood home and Draco was fine with that. He pulled another parchment from the pile and, red self-inking quill in hand, began to correct it. He sighed dramatically as he realised tomorrow he was going to have to go over how a potion was affected by using diced, chopped or crushed ingredients. Merlin, Mayhew hadn't taught anything. Draco suspected he simply told them what to do for each simple potion step by step, guaranteeing they would be done correctly. Unfortunately, that didn't allow for any thinking or knowledge about technique. He scrawled a very large red _D_ on the top of the page along with the note _Did you even read the chapter before writing this, Mr Price?_ , grateful that was the last fifth year essay he needed to grade tonight.

With a shake of his head, Draco picked up his lesson plan for the upcoming month. His sixth year class was talented and for the most part they had moved along quickly and nearly were where they should be in the curriculum. He knew for certain Corrine Middlemas and her friends were far better students than their silliness indicated. In fact, he suspected she'd have the highest score in the class if she spent as much time looking at her textbook as she did staring at him. But they still needed work before he could trust them with the increasingly difficult potions they should already be brewing. 

Glancing at each grade's syllabus, Draco reviewed his agenda and was confident that within the month none of his classes would be behind. He knew he wouldn't be popular, but that wasn't why he was here, now was it?

~~@@~~

October passed in what felt like a never ending succession of grading essays, teaching his students the proper procedures that constituted potions brewing and finding time for his other Hogwarts duties. It was one thing to show them how do complete each step, as Mayhew had done, and something completely different and much more difficult to help them _learn_ on their own. Second years aside, most of the student had the basic knowledge to perform well on their own; they simply needed to re-learn how to accomplish it.

By the Halloween feast, however, Draco was pleased with their progress. Each class seemed to be on track and the students were working on their own. The essays that were being turned in were, for the most part, well thought out and accurate. There were some students that seemed to take pleasure in being _thick_ and Draco prayed to whatever higher power there was that most of his fifth year class would not continue into Advanced Potions.

Sitting curled into the corner of his sofa, Draco was reviewing the list of approved potions on the sixth year curriculum. He was going to be testing them on one of the more difficult potions the following Friday. They had done well with the Hiccoughing Solution the previous Friday and he wanted to test them even further this time. In the end, he finally settled on the Draught of Living Death. His mind wandered back to his sixth year when Potter had outshined them all in Potions, due, he found out later, to the use of Severus' old textbook and the brilliant notes it contained. Of course, not all the notes were brilliant, Draco thought, rubbing a hand on his chest. But that was water under the proverbial bridge. 

Setting the parchment on the sofa, Draco stood and walked to his liquor cabinet. He decided to reward his hard work with a drink and to see if it would help get his mind off of Potter. Draco found the idea that he was still thinking about Potter faintly annoying. Even though he really wasn't a git any longer, and he was distractingly fit. And it didn't help that every time Draco delivered any potions to the hospital wing, Potter usually had his Healer's robe off, moving about in very nice fitting trousers. 

Draco couldn't decide if it was his imagination or if Potter was actually turning up in many of the places Draco seemed to be. On Monday the week before, Draco was watching the Slytherin Quidditch team practice and Potter had appeared out of no-where, sitting next to Draco in the stands with some excuse about having been there for some minor injury to a Hufflepuff beater before the Slytherins took the field. 

Then, the day before Potter had moved from his usual place by Longbottom at the far end of the head table and sat next to Draco. When questioned, Potter simply shrugged and mumbled something about a _change of scenery_. Whatever that meant. And while he wouldn't admit it to another living soul, it made Draco smile and spend far too much time thinking about Potter. He took a deep sip of the wine he'd poured. This train of thought was getting him nowhere. And not for the first time he wished Blaise didn't travel so much. He considered trying to track down his friend, but knew that was probably futile. With a sigh, he drained his glass. Picking up the novel he was reading, Draco decided to call it an early night.

~~@@~~

Draco looked at himself in the mirror again. It was a Hogsmeade Saturday and it was his turn to supervise the visit with the Transfiguration teacher, Clarissa Stratingford. They weren't exactly friends, but then he did keep to himself. And he appreciated her no nonsense approach to things which could be counted on to help keep the hooligans in line. Draco knew that every single eligible Slytherin was going to be there and he suspected every student third year and up would be in the village. He sighed; the Gryffindorks could be counted on to act like idiots.

The weather had changed in the past couple of weeks, going from lovely fall days into cold, damp days that were more often rainy than not. Wrapping his scarf around his neck, Draco left his rooms and headed for the main doors and the complete chaos that a Hogsmeade weekend brought. 

"Good morning, Clarissa," Draco said, spotting his fellow chaperone and stepping up to her side. "Ready to let the beasts out into the world?"

Clarissa laughed and gave Draco a nudge with her shoulder. "Beasts is right. I think every single student is here and ready to go." She looked at the mass of humanity in front of her. "I think I feel a cold coming on and may need to go to the hospital wing." She managed a weak cough and attempted to give Draco a pitiful look.

"Nice try, Stratingford," Draco said with a laugh. "No way am I going to be responsible for all of these urchins. Get over it, we need to go."

"Nobody in the hospital wing today, anyway, Clarissa. You'd have to fend for yourself." A deep voice sounded behind Draco. It took all his willpower not to jump.

Turning, Draco fixed Potter with a direct look. "Leaving your post today, Potter?"

Harry shrugged. "No patients. I let Minerva know where I was going and she knows how to reach me in an emergency. Besides," Harry gave Draco a wide grin, "I'm looking forward to being with much better company than an empty hospital wing."

Draco allowed himself to smile back, deciding that the day had just become much more interesting. 

Clarissa linked her arm into one of Draco's and one of Harry's on her other side. "Well, it must be my lucky day. Escorted to Hogsmeade by two of the most handsome professors at Hogwarts. Let's go gentlemen. We have urchins to threaten and hot spiced mead to consume."

Both Harry and Draco laughed and allowed themselves to be lead out through the large oak double doors and down the path to Hogsmeade. They chatted amiably, mostly about the students, all the way into town. 

By the time they reached The Three Broomsticks, the slight drizzle had become a steady shower. Without another word, they quickly detoured inside the pub. Madam Rosmerta met them at the door with a smile. "Professors, lovely to see you on this wet day."

"Hello, Rosie," Harry said, stopping to kiss her cheek. "Thought we'd get some of your delicious mulled mead before we have to go out to check on the students."

"Speak for yourself, Potter," Draco said with a sniff, "I've no intention of leaving here. The urchins can fend for themselves."

Clarissa laughed and shook her head. "Oh honestly you two. Can we just get a table and something warm first?" Then she turned to Draco. "And you will take your turn checking on the _urchins_. I'm not going to be the only one out in the elements today."

She strode over to a booth near the back of the pub where all the seats faced the main part of the room. "My favourite place to watch the students as they come in. They generally don't notice us back here and we can catch them when they attempt to order drinks they're not allowed to have."

Draco nodded. "I like your style, Clarissa. Are you sure you didn't sort Slytherin?"

"Ravenclaw through and through. Slytherins don't have the market on being cagey, Draco. Ravenclaws are just more subtle about it."

Draco slid into the booth first and Clarissa followed. Rather than following her, Harry walked around the table and slid in next to Draco. 

"Really, Potter," Draco frowned, "shouldn't you be sitting on the other side of Clarissa? You know, boy girl, boy girl?"

"Did I miss that in the teacher's handbook? Or some manners book?" Harry looked unrepentant. "And nope, my life just isn't boy girl. More like 'man man'. She's not my type."

Clarissa raised a hand to her throat in feigned distress, then laughed. "Thank fuck for that. My boyfriend is a Beater for the Montrose Magpies and has a jealous streak a mile wide. Even if you are Harry Potter."

Draco looked at Harry. "Well then, since you place yourself on the end, the first round is on you. I'll have a mulled mead."

Harry stood again, turning towards Clarissa. "And for you, madam?" 

Clarissa ordered the same and Harry headed towards the bar.

She turned to Draco. "He likes you."

Draco's mouth dropped open. 

"Oh do close your mouth, he's turned this way and you look like you've gone loopy."

Brow furrowing, Draco stared, but closed his mouth. "I beg your pardon?"

"Merlin, Draco. You can't be that thick. The man has done everything possible to get your attention the last few weeks. Put him out of his misery and show him you're interested too!"

"I'm not…he's not…" Draco stuttered, but before he could finish his thought, Harry was back at the table with their drinks floating on a tray behind him.

"Are you feeling well," Harry asked handing Draco his mug. "You look a bit flushed."

"Fine," Draco replied a bit too quickly. 

Harry looked unconvinced. "I am a Healer. Maybe I should check you out."

Draco arched a brow and Clarissa giggled. "Well that's forward of you, Potter. I generally make a man buy me dinner before that happens."

Harry blinked, then laughed. Draco was surprised to find how that deep baritone went straight to his dick. 

"Don't mind me, you two," Clarissa said sipping at her mead. "I'll just sit over here staring into the room."

Draco bumped her with his elbow. "Oh stop. Now, finish that story you were telling us on the way here about Stebbins."

"It was absolutely the best Transfiguration mishap I've ever seen. Not that Stebbins will ever live it down. The poor boy was supposed to Transfigure a dinner plate into a mushroom. Fairly standard work for sixth years. I'm not sure where he made his error, but the next thing I knew there was a ceramic dildo laying on his desk."

Draco and Harry roared with laughter. "Seriously?" Draco asked. "An actual dildo?"

"And quite a pretty one with little painted violets on it," Clarissa laughed. She finished her mead, setting the mug on the table. "I'll take the first turn at checking the brats." She stood and pulled on her cloak. "At least the rain has stopped for now. You two be good and don't drink too much while I'm gone."

Harry gave her a wave and she hurried out the door.

"Well I know I don't have any stories that can top that one. Not too much excitement in the hospital wing."

Draco nodded. "I'm happy to say I've not had any major catastrophes in potions. While the students were woefully behind in their curriculum due to that hack last year, at least they had a basic knowledge from previous teachers."

"Are you enjoying teaching?" Harry asked, sipping his drink.

"Except for a few dunderheads, I find it quite agreeable." Draco replied.

"And what about when you're not teaching? I don't see you much in the staff room. What does our Potions Master do for fun?"

"Potter," Draco queried, "are you trying to chat me up?"

"Is it working?" Harry asked, green eyes bright. 

"Perhaps," Draco replied. "Go get me another mead and we'll see what happens."

Harry laughed, but got up and went to the bar. 

Draco sat at the table admiring Harry's arse as he walked across the room.

~~@@~~

Ever since the Hogsmeade weekend, Draco found himself thinking about Potter even more than he had before. The flirting in the Three Broomsticks had been innocent enough, and Draco wondered if Harry had just been passing the time. Of course it wasn't like they had any time to themselves. The weather turned brutal, which wasn't uncommon for this time of year in the Scottish highlands. But being forced to remain indoors was wearing on not just the students, but the staff as well.

Another side effect of the recent trip to Hogsmeade was an overabundance of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes that were popping up all over the castle, which lead to additional evening staff duty rounds. Draco kept hoping he'd be assigned with Potter, but they appeared to be on different shifts. Draco was so frustrated and annoyed with everyone that he'd given twelve students detention in the last three days over Fanged Frisbees in the hallways. Of course, he wasn't going to sit them himself. He had an understanding in place with Filch; he would provide Filch with manual labour, and Filch would provide Draco with potion ingredients he didn't want to go out in the elements to procure. And, there was something uniquely satisfying knowing some of the little snots were being forced to clean Mrs Norris's litter box without magic.

In spite of the confinement and nasty weather, his sixth year Slytherins had actually done fairly well with the Draught of Living Death. Middlemas and her lumpy little friend Everett volunteered to help him move all of the potions into the back storeroom. The potion had to cure for twenty four hours and was actually at its most dangerous when just completed. The cauldrons could easily be mishandled and his next class was double potions with the fourth year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. God forbid he leave the potions on the work stations with that group heading in. Draco didn't even trust the sixth years who'd brewed them to move them. Despite their occasional schoolgirl silliness, Middlemas and Everett were competent students and fairly good assistants, and they were carefully levitating the cauldrons into the side storage room, where they could be locked away.

There was a commotion from the hallway outside the closed classroom door, and Draco heard the sounds of a high pitched squeal and several shouted obscenities. He cursed under his breath. 

"Make sure all of those potions are secured," he said, striding briskly toward the door. "We can't take any chances with this group."

Everett giggled, but Middlemas nodded earnestly. "Yes, sir."

Draco waved his wand and the classroom door flew open, slamming against the stone wall, startling the students in the hall. He heard a squeak, and then silence descended.

"What in Salazar's name are you doing?" He strode to the door, stopping with his hands on his hips, staring menacingly at the two suddenly quiet lines of students. One of the Hufflepuff girls was crying, bat bogeys flapping all over her flushed face. "And who is responsible for this?"

He glared at the Gryffindor queue. Finally one of the boys, an unfortunate creature named Boozworthy, tentatively raised his hand. Draco pointed at the girl, glaring. "Undo this. Immediately." The boy muttered the counter curse, and Draco stepped aside. "Enter in silence," he growled, and the two lines filed into the room. "The first one of you who makes a sound will be in detention for the rest of their natural life."

Draco stalked toward the front of the classroom, cursing under his breath when he saw a cauldron still sitting on a workstation. 

"Middlemas," he snapped, picking it up. "This. Now."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir." She rushed toward him, reaching for the potion. 

Someone behind him jostled his arm and the contents of the cauldron sloshed over the side. Turning quickly to prevent the potion from landing on Middlemas, the cauldron tipped dangerously in Draco's grip. Middlemas tried to grab it, which only compounded the situation and it splashed on Draco's hands. He hissed at the resulting burn, nearly dropping the pewter cauldron onto the floor.

There was the sound of shuffling feet and mumbling behind him, a sharp explosion, and then lethargy began to spread through his body, his vision darkening around the edges. The cauldron slipped from suddenly numb fingers and the last thing he saw was Middlemas' frightened features before he collapsed to the floor.

~~@@~~

"Ouch. Dammit."

Harry gave Oliver Wood an amused look and released his forearm. 

"It isn't broken," he said. "But you've got to quit trying to catch them, Ollie."

Wood sighed. "What am I supposed to do? Let them slam into the pitch?"

"Better the pitch than you." Harry walked to the potions cabinet and opened it. "Don't you think I can fix whatever they break?"

"It's instinct, Harry. And don't try to tell me you'd let them crash any more than I do."

"Probably not, which makes me just as hopeless as you are." Harry poured a pain potion from a larger bottle into a vial and stoppered it. He held it out to Wood. "Two drops in a glass of water at bedtime. You should be fine in the morning."

"Thanks, Harry."

A wispy white cat with markings like spectacles around its eyes flew through the open hospital wing doors, floating to Harry and landing on the floor.

"You're services are required in the potions classroom, Healer Potter," McGonagall's voice said. "There's been an accident."

The cat disappeared. 

"That doesn't sound good," Wood said. 

Harry frowned. "No, it doesn't. I'm sorry, Ollie…" He reached for a small leather bag of potions and slipped his robes onto his shoulders.

"You go on. I'll see you at dinner."

Harry gave him a distracted nod and left the hospital, moving quickly down the long hallways. It was never good when there was any sort of accident in potions. The students had to work with the ingredients, but some of them were really dangerous. 

It took him several minutes to make it all of the way down to the potions classroom, even nearly running and cursing under his breath that he wasn't allowed to _fly_ down to the dungeons, then he had to push through a crowd of students filling the open doorway. When he crossed the threshold, his heart jumped into his throat. He saw long legs and black robes sticking out from behind one of the tall desks, McGonagall standing next to them and speaking softly to a sobbing Corinne Middlemas. 

"Miss Middlemas," she was saying. "Try to control yourself."

Harry knelt next to the figure on the floor, alarmed by lack of colour in Draco's face. He was always pale, but not like this. There was no colour in his cheeks or lips, and his white hair was tousled over his forehead. 

"What happened?"

McGonagall gestured impatiently to the girl in front of her. "I'm trying to ascertain that," she said tartly. "With limited success."

"What's this potion?" He gestured to the small puddle of clear liquid on the floor.

"It's the Draught of Living Death." 

Harry looked up to see Hannah Everett standing over him, twisting her fingers at her waist but far more composed than her friend. 

"We were helping Professor Malfoy put the cauldrons away, and we missed that one," she said. "He picked it up, and then someone bumped him and it tipped..."

Harry had the antidote to the draught in his bag, and he opened it, going over the dosage in his head as he searched each of the vials. He found the proper one and pulled it out, carefully uncapping it and pulling the dosage of the violet potion into the stopper.

"Healer Potter, don't give him that," Hannah cried out.

Harry looked up at the girl. "Why, Hannah?"

"It's dangerous to mix the antidote with other hexes and spells, isn't it? I mean, that's what we learned when we were brewing it."

"What other spells?"

"I don't know. I just know there was some sort of fight going on between some of the Gryffindors and as Professor Malfoy picked up the cauldron, spells flew around…"

Harry pushed himself to his feet, studying the cowed, shamefaced students who crowded back against the stone walls. He knew some of these kids, and the usual suspects wouldn't meet his gaze. 

"Troller, Bates, Boozworthy, front and center."

McGonagall stepped closer to Harry. "What is this, Healer? Oh, Middlemas, do _control_ yourself!"

Middlemas took a step back, her hands all but shoved into her mouth to stifle her cries. 

"I understand from Everett," Harry said softly, "that there were spells flying in addition to the potion spill. Everett mentioned, quite correctly, that I need to know what those spells were before I administer any antidote." He looked down at Malfoy, who was now positively white. "I think time is of the essence in figuring out what hit him."

McGonagall looked down at Malfoy, her concern obvious. "Question them," she gestured toward the nervous looking fourth years. "You have my support. And as they're from my house, I have authority to give it." She studied each of the boys in turn. "Do not even consider lying."

"Each spell or hex," Harry snapped. "Now."

None of the three boys spoke.

"This is not a game!" Harry's voice echoed off of the stone walls and the boys jumped. "Understand; if you do not tell me the truth, now, you could very well be responsible for the death of your Potions Master. And I assure you, winter in Azkaban is unpleasantly cold."

The fifteen year olds all looked to McGonagall, but she crossed her arms across her chest, her expression unforgiving. 

"Bedazzling Hex," Bates finally said, looking at Harry then looking away.

"Impedimenta," Troller whispered. 

Boozworthy wouldn't meet his gaze. Harry was out of patience, and it looked to him like Draco's limbs were starting to stiffen. "Boozworthy," he snapped. "I can make you tell me. I have Veritaserum in his bag, and while it might not be standard procedure, being Harry Potter has its advantages. Now talk!"

Boozworthy gave him a nasty look, then stared at the floor. "Curse of Enchanted Slumber."

Harry stared at him in consternation, then looked from the boys to the other students standing near the wall. 

"Have you any idea what order those spells were delivered in?"

The boys looked at each other, then shook their heads. Harry turned his back on them and leaned toward Minerva. 

"I believe this was an organized event, aimed at the object of someone's affection. You're going to want to know who, by the way. The Curse of Enchanted Slumber has only one antidote I'm aware of, and fifteen year olds aren't capable of True Love. I don't believe Malfoy was the target, however. He just got in the way."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "What does that mean for the Professor's treatment?"

"I'm going to have to put him in a medically induced coma," Harry answered. "Then I'll have to untangle the magical threads of each hex. It may take a while."

McGonagall nodded. "Do what you must." She turned to the students. "This class is cancelled for today. All of you will go to the library for a study period." She pointed at the boys. "All but you three. My office, now. We'll let your parents decide how they feel about attempted forced affection and near murder."

By the time she was done talking the boys looked horrified but Harry couldn't be arsed to care. He ignored the students as he drew his wand. " _Clemens Dormiens_ ," he whispered, moving his wand over Malfoy's still form. As he watched, the effect of the magical coma took effect. Malfoy's stiff limbs relaxed, his head rolling gently to the side, his expression easing. He looked… beautiful, and Harry turned his head quickly away, packing up his potions kit and rising to his feet. 

"Everett," he said. "Please go to teacher's lounge and fetch Professor Longbottom. I believe he has a free period right now." 

"Everett, wait." McGonagall raised an eyebrow. 

"You have that lot to deal with, Headmistress." He pointed to the boys.

"That lot," she said, sneering at them, "will go straight to my office because they know there isn't a place in the castle where they can hide." The boys shuffled and looked away, but made sounds of agreement. She turned back to Harry. "I shall help you transport the professor to the hospital wing."

Harry nodded. "Thank you."

Between them, they levitated Malfoy's still form and walked out the door.

~~@@~~

Harry rubbed his eyes, his limbs feeling like lead as he lowered himself into a stiff white chair that sat next to the bed nearest his quarters. This small area, set up for more intensive illness or injury, had been placed close to the Healer's apartment so that they could rest while they were watching the ill patients. Of course, when the hospital had been built they'd planned to have at least two Healers and one apprentice full time. The board of governors, in their infinite wisdom, had decided that since the student body had grown smaller over the years, that the necessity for a larger medical staff was unnecessary. Hence, Pomfrey had worked alone, and now Harry did as well. It had been a day and a half since they'd brought Malfoy up from the Potions classroom, and he hadn't slept yet. He doubted he would until the man regained consciousness.

If he regained consciousness.

Harry had been able to speak to the curse expert at St. Mungo's via Floo, and learned just how dangerous what had happened to Draco was. The Draught of Living Death was bad enough, but combined with the other three hexes it could be fatal, living death becoming the more permanent option. The hexes had to be removed in the order they were administered, which Harry knew, and any wrong move could be lethal. He knew how to identify each hex on the body, but the order they'd hit Draco in was more tricky. It had taken twelve hours to destabilise each curse, then another twelve to carefully, meticulously identify their order. Harry's hands had been less than steady as he lifted them, much like peeling away a film of spider web. Draco remained under the medical coma because of the danger of the combined magic, but Harry was glad. Removal of the hexes could be uncomfortable, and the idea of causing Draco pain made Harry's chest hurt. But then, his chest had hurt since he'd seen Draco, lying still as death on the classroom floor. It was far too reminiscent of sixth year, and the after effects of Sectumsempra. The time he'd nearly killed him. 

Harry rubbed his eyes under the rims of his glasses, and a soft pop sounded just behind him. He turned to find his old, ancient house-elf Kreacher standing there with a tray in his hands. He approached Harry and placed it on a small table near his elbow. 

"The Headmistress is ordering this for you, Healer." 

Kreacher no longer called Harry Master, and he was relieved. "I'm really not hungry, Kreacher, but thank you."

It took him a moment to notice the two cups, along with the small plate of sandwiches and the teapot. 

"I don't care if you're hungry or not." McGonagall swept past him, waving her wand and a far more comfortable looking chair than the one Harry sat in appeared beside him. "You've not eaten in at least a day, nor slept I imagine." Harry didn't see the point in arguing with her. She settled gracefully in the chair. "The last thing we need is our Healer collapsing from hunger and exhaustion." She poured two cups of tea, adding sugar to both. She sent the house-elf a look. "You may go, Kreacher."

Still, the little elf lingered. "What is it, Kreacher?" Harry asked softly.

The bat like ears quivered. "Young Malfoy, sir. Will he be… well?"

Harry sighed. "I certainly hope so, Kreacher. I'm just waiting for his mother to arrive to lift the last spell."

"His mother?" McGonagall took a delicate sip of her tea.

"The antidote to the Curse of Enchanted Slumber is love, Headmistress. I can do all of the medical things, but I can't provide the key ingredient. His mother has proven time and again that her love for Draco is unquestionable. She's at the family property in France, but had gone to visit friends. She's due back any time, and I've left word with her servants."

McGonagall gave him a direct look he was too tired to try to decipher. 

"And the antidote to the Draught of Living Death?" she asked after a long moment.

"I have it prepared. Actually, Professor Malfoy prepared it, once he knew he'd be teaching it to his sixth years."

"Did he? Well, we know his skill. It was wise of you to have him fill your stores before those lessons began."

"We both had the idea, actually. I can brew some of the simpler antidotes, but that one is complicated. And if anyone should benefit from his skill, I think it should be Malfoy."

"Agreed." She took another sip of her tea before setting the cup aside. "So." She linked her fingers in her lap. "Eat Healer." Harry sighed but picked up a sandwich. "You believe you need Narcissa Malfoy to counter the slumber curse?"

Harry took a bite of his sandwich. "Well, yes…"

Her gaze was steady. "I thought you and the professor were…getting on."

Harry's felt his face heat. "Not like that."

She tsked. "No? That's too bad. I think you'd make a lovely couple."

Harry stared. "Minerva! I'm not…. We're not… I mean…"

Her small smile held a wealth of humour. "You're stammering, Healer." The fireplace across the room roared to life with green fire. "And I believe Mrs Malfoy has arrived. You might want to cast a grooming charm, Healer Potter. You look a bit rough."

Narcissa Malfoy stepped from the fire, free of soot, velvet robes spotless and long blonde hair twisted up on the crown of her head. She was still lovely. Harry cast the suggested grooming charm, hoping he didn't look as unkempt as he felt.

It took several minutes to convince Kreacher that 'Miss Cissy', his beloved Mistress's niece, was going to be well treated and for him to go back to the kitchens to prepare her a special lunch. Once she spotted Draco, she rushed to him, sitting elegantly and leaning across his still form to clutch his hand. 

"What happened to him?"

"A combination of unintentional hexing and a potions accident," Harry answered. 

"I told him," she said, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I told him that mixing potions and children was a recipe for disaster." Her head turned and her eyes landed on Harry. "And you're the Healer here now, Mr Potter? Although I imagine that would be Healer Potter. How… unexpected. And yet, perhaps not. It must fall into line with your hero complex." It wasn't said unkindly, but it stung. Somehow more than when Draco had said it.

"His skill is unquestionable, Narcissa," Minerva said. "You have my word."

She stared at Harry for a long moment. "Fine. I trust Minerva's judgement. Just tell me what I need to do."

Harry nodded, slipping into his green robes and pulling his wand.

He cast a spell on Draco's still form and moments later the curse appeared, clinging to his body like a lavender shroud. It covered his face in a tracing, mirroring his veins, and showed on his pale hands. Narcissa pulled back in alarm.

"No, it's all right," he assured her quickly. "That's just the spell. Hold his hand, please, call him back." He gave her an earnest look. "Tell him you love him." 

She looked startled, but nodded. "All right."

Harry gave her an encouraging nod, then went back to work. Starting at Draco's head, he began to lift the curse, peeling it away like sunburnt skin, watching it disappear as it floated to the floor. He had to pull the bedding back, revealing Draco's nicely sculpted chest and shoulders, his flat abdomen, his shapely legs. He tried to ignore the part of Draco's body covered by white silk boxers until he had to work near it, and would not blush, he told himself. He was a professional, he'd do his job. When he arrived at Draco's long, bony feet, he became aware of Narcissa beside him, speaking softly.

"Wake up, darling," she was saying. "Please, Draco. Please wake up. Come back to me. I love you so much. I couldn't bear to lose you."

Harry pulled a small phial from his pocket and took out the stopper. Slipping one hand gently beneath Draco's head, he lifted it enough that his mouth fell slightly open. He poured the antidote to the Draught of Living Death between his lips.

"Swallow, Draco," he said gently. His fingers went to Draco's throat, to the soft white skin, and he ran his thumb over his Adam's apple. "Swallow. Please."

It took several moments, and Harry held his breath even as Narcissa continued to speak softly to her son. Harry's thumb went from Draco's throat to the line of his jaw, to his cheekbone. Draco's throat moved as he swallowed.

"Well done, Draco," Harry murmured. "Now, come back."

Slowly, colour began to flood back into Draco's cheeks. It moved down his neck, over his chest. His nipples pinked, his lips did the same. His dark lashes fluttered, and then, so slowly Harry thought his heart would stop, his eyes drifted open. He blinked once, then again, looking confused. Finally his head rolled to the side. 

"Harry?" His voice was rough from disuse, but he looked up at Harry, his expression soft and open. "What happened?"

Relief and joy flooded Harry's chest. "There was an accident," he told him softly. "Between you, the Draught of Living Death, and some ill-timed hexes."

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes sluggishly. "Lucky for me the saviour of the wizarding world was here then, wasn't it?" Harry gave him a weak, lopsided smile as Draco's gaze travelled to his mother, and he smiled faintly, pleasure in his eyes. "Mother." 

She took his hand in one of hers and touched his cheek with the other. "Hello, darling. I'm so glad you're unharmed."

Draco gave her a soft, muted smile. Harry lifted the bedding and covered Draco to his chin. He looked up at Harry and blinked.

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Harry took a step back, then another. Not wanting to impose himself on Draco's reunion with his mother, he stoppered the vial, slipping it into his pocket, sleeving his wand. He was about to turn away when a hand touched his arm.

"Well done, Healer," McGonagall murmured from his side. 

Harry gave her a slight smile.

~~@@~~

Narcissa Malfoy stayed long enough to have dinner with her weary son, finally stepping away long enough to speak to Harry.

"He seems so very tired. Is that typical?"

Harry gestured for her to take a chair in his office and sat across from her behind his battered desk. 

"Being struck with so much magic at once is difficult for the body to respond to. One powerful potion is bad enough, but you add two hexes and a curse on top of that and yes, exhaustion is a symptom of that sort of saturation. I could give him Pepper Up or something similar, but it's safer and smarter to let the body heal at its own speed."

"How long will he be like this?"

"Two or three days. I'd advise complete bed rest, and he's more likely to do that if he's here, under my supervision." He fully expected her to offer to stay and watch over him herself, an idea Harry dreaded and that he'd spent hours trying to think of a counter argument for. She could stay if she wanted; he couldn't stop her. But he desperately hoped she wouldn't.

She stared at Harry for several drawn out seconds, and he fought the urge to fidget. That would hardly be professional.

"I see." She glanced over her shoulder at Draco, then back. "As long as you assure me he's fine, I'll be leaving, then. I was in the midst of a visit with my husband's family in France, and I'd like to return." Harry looked at her in surprise.

"Aside from the tiredness, he should be perfectly fine," Harry said. She nodded once decisively, then stood.

"I'll leave him to your care, then." She paused. "I will be checking his progress via Floo, Healer."

"Of course. I… I'll make sure he's fine."

One of her brows, shaped just like Draco's, arched. "Good."

She turned and left his office to walk back to her son, and Harry watched her ramrod straight back as she went. She bent over her son, once again touching his face gently. His eyes opened and she whispered to him, then cupped his cheek. 

Harry looked away, feeling like he was infringing on a private moment. When he heard the Floo activate a few minutes later, he looked up and saw that she was gone, Draco was once more asleep and the hospital quiet. 

Harry sat at his desk, staring at the man, wondering why it was that Narcissa Malfoy had left him feeling like he was promising more than to simply make sure her son got well.

~~@@~~

Draco woke, feeling as if his body weighed a thousand pounds. His arms were like lead and his head pounded faintly, but for right then the most pressing issue was his bladder. He had to piss so badly it felt like his back teeth were floating. Forcing his arm to move, Draco threw back the bedding and tried to sit up. To his irritation, he wasn't able to get his arms in a position to push him upright. He growled and moments later Potter was at his side, looking down on him.

"Can I help?" he offered softly.

Draco looked up at him, realising that if he wanted to sit up, he was going to have to accept assistance. He huffed and fell back to the cot. 

"I need to get up."

"Why?"

Draco grimaced. "I have to piss, Potter."

"You can do that right there with a bedpan, you know."

Now Draco glared, and Potter held out his palms with a slight smile. "No on the bedpan. Good to know." He held out his hand again. 

Draco looked at it. 

"Draco, if you want to get up, you're going to have to let me help you."

"Do you plan to hold my dick for me once we get to the loo?"

Potter's gaze held steady. "Only if you ask me nicely."

Draco didn't want to find the man amusing, he really didn't. Unfortunately, he couldn't help it. He smirked, and even that took more energy than he had at the moment.

"Fine. Just get me up."

Potter helped him slip on a bathrobe before he stood and once Draco was on his feet, he was grateful for Potter's arm around his waist. The floor felt very far away and his head felt both heavy and floaty, a decidedly weird combination. 

"Ready?" Potter asked. Draco looked over at him and felt the floor tip. "Easy." Potter tightened his arm around Draco's waist and Draco became distractingly aware of the solidness of the body all along the side of his. "Here, put your arm around my shoulders; it'll help." It helped Draco be more distractingly aware of Potter's fitness; it didn't seem to help with his balance at all and Potter ended up gripping the back of his robe. Several stumbling, humbling minutes later he was in the small private loo, forced to sit or at risk of ending up face first in the toilet. By the time he was back on the edge of the bed, he felt as if he'd jogged across Scotland barefoot.

"It will get better," Potter said, gently easing the robe from his shoulders and then pulling the blankets back over his chest. 

"So you say," Draco grumped, knowing he was being an arse and unable to help it.

"Well, I am the Healer," Potter replied cheerfully. "And as weak as you are, I pretty much have you at my mercy. You have to believe me."

"The hell," Draco growled, rolling to his side with effort. "I'll just go to sleep, and then you'll have no one to even listen to your mindless twattle."

"That's one of the things I like about you, Malfoy. Your grasp of the English language. 'Mindless twattle'. Where do you even come up with things like that?"

"You'll have to forgive me, Potter," Draco said around a yawn. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that you like anything about me at all."

Draco closed his eyes, feeling himself pulled toward sleep. He couldn't be sure he actually felt fingers shift through his hair. 

"Oh, I think you'll find there are a number of things I like about you," Potter's voice said from far away. Draco couldn't be sure he'd actually heard the words, either.

He was surprised by how much he hoped he had.

~~@@~~

Harry finished filling out his hospital log for the day, closing it and slipping it back into his desk drawer. He snuffed out the candle that provided as much light as he needed, then looked out through his open office door. The lamp next to Draco's cot was still burning softly, and the glow picked up the nearly white strands in his pale hair. He looked almost angelic lying there, which Harry supposed was a very strange thought to acquaint with Malfoy, but there it was. With his white hair and his pale, flawless skin, he looked like a fallen angel. Harry pushed his chair back from the desk and stood. Fallen he could believe.

He hadn't been planning to make his way to Draco's side, but his feet seemed to take him there regardless. He touched Draco's wrist and checked his pulse, finding it satisfyingly strong beneath the pads of his fingers. His colour was better by the hour, too, his cheeks still a soft pink. His lips were slightly parted and his breathing was easy and Harry settled silently onto the chair next to the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of Draco's chest. 

He'd known for several weeks now that he had a wicked crush on the Potions Master. Such a stupid word for one adult's feelings for another: a crush. That might be appropriate for a school age affection, but for someone his age? It was ridiculous. But it was far less terrifying than the other word adults sometimes used, the one that began with an 'L'. Especially when they had the sort of history he and Draco did. What possible future could they have, even if Draco did have feelings for him (although there had been no real evidence of that)? 

They had absolutely nothing in common; not their interests, not their friends. At least, Harry didn't think they did. The truth was, he didn't know Draco all that well, despite having known him for the better part of fifteen years. He knew he'd been a right little git during their school years, but then hadn't they all? He knew his father had led him down a disastrous path, but an argument could be made that what had happened to Harry's parents had led him down a near disastrous path of his own. And there was abundant evidence that Draco had done everything he could to distance himself from Lucius by the end of the war. And since then, he had done everything in his power to rise above his father in every way. He'd earned his Potion Masters certification, he was a professor, he was… well, basically all of the things Harry was. And that bore thinking about.

There was a stack of books on the small table by the bed, and Harry figured Draco's mother must've sent them over. He leaned forward to study the titles.

'Les Liaisons Dangereuses.' Harry flipped it open and realised that one was in French. He closed it and set it aside. 'Pride and Prejudice.' He made a face. Hermione had forced him to read that one while at uni. He'd liked Elizabeth Bennett and hated everyone else, including Darcy, the stuck up prig. 'Wuthering Heights'. He hadn't read that one. He set the others aside and opened the book, and found himself lost in it within minutes.

~~@@~~

Draco sighed and shifted, happy to find that his bladder wasn't the reason he'd wakened. Then his stomach growled, and he knew it was another bodily function that had pulled him awake; he was starving.

He had no idea what time it was, no idea when he'd eaten a few spoonfulls of broth that Potter had insisted on, but by the gnawing in his empty stomach it must've been hours ago. He opened his eyes to look around the large hospital wing and found himself startled by the sight in front of him. 

Potter was seated in the chair across from him, but Draco realised it wasn't the same chair. Someone had transfigured it from the straight, serviceable thing into a comfortable wing backed chair with an ottoman and Potter sat there, illuminated by the soft candlelight. His black hair swung down over his forehead, and the collar of his button down was loosened, the green Healers robes tossed over the back of the chair behind his head. He had a thick book open on his lap, his handsome features arrested in concentration and Draco felt fullness settle around his heart. When had he started having these deeper feelings for Potter? That first day, when they'd decided to be grownups? The day on the pitch, and the revelation of his calm competence? Or was it just the night before, when he'd helped him to the loo? Actually, Draco knew it had been sneaking up on him for a while. Only now, it was more than just finding him fit. So, what to do with it?

He cleared his throat and Potter's head shot up. 

"You're awake!"

"You're a genius." 

Potter's cheeks turned pink, much to Draco's delight. "What are you reading?"

"One of the books your mother sent," Potter answered. "Wuthering Heights."

Draco pillowed his face on his hands. "You've never read Bronte before?"

"No, actually. And since I've read Pride and Prejudice and the other is in French, it was this or go to bed."

" _You've_ read Jane Austen?"

Potter's lips quirked into a lopsided smile. "You find that surprising?"

"That you read Jane Austen, or that you read?"

Potter gave him a chiding look. "I'll have you know I've read Sense and Sensibility, Persuasion, Emma, Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park."

"Colour me impressed," Draco teased. "And your favourite?"

Potter looked thoughtful. "I like Mansfield Park the best, I think. But I'll always believe Colonel Brandon made me realise I found men much more attractive than women."

"He is delicious. Have you seen the film?"

Potter nodded, his eyes bright. "The sexiest man in the universe."

On that they could both agree. "And what do you think of Catherine Earnshaw?"

Potter pursed his lips. "So far, she's just a spoiled snot, but I'm not very far into it."

"I should warn you that she doesn't improve much."

Potter closed the book. "I sort of assumed that. This doesn't seem like a happy story."

"Not really, no."

"So, how are you feeling?"

Draco took internal inventory. He frowned. "Still tired. Even after sleeping for hours."

"It will get better."

Draco smirked. "That sounds like a Muggle campaign to reassure gay people."

Potter chuckled. "It's also true about your condition. Your body had to fight off four different kinds of parasitic magic. You have to give your immune system a chance to recover." Potter set the book aside. "Now, I imagine you're hungry. Can I get you some food? Kreacher has been hovering, dying to feed you, for hours."

"Kreacher?" Draco frowned.

"You do remember your Aunt Walburga?"

Draco shuddered. "Merlin, please. I'm already ill."

Harry laughed. "Well, if you remember her, you must remember her house-elf?"

"Salazar's balls, he's not still alive. That's impossible."

"Well, then his ghost is currently in the kitchen, preparing everything you might have eaten in the whole of your life."

Draco was horrified, until his stomach growled. Loudly. Potter grinned. 

"I take it that's a 'yes'?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but sat up slowly and nodded.

~~@@~~

Sunlight was coming through the narrow window high in the castle wall, splashing across his bed when Harry woke the next morning. He looked at the clock and it read half nine. Groaning, he rolled over. He'd only gone to bed at six just as the sun was clearing the horizon, but whenever there were patients in the wing, he didn't sleep well. Then he remembered who was in the hospital, and he sat up. It was then he realised that he was stretched out in his clothes, just a light blanket over his legs. He ran his hand over his jaw and grimaced; he desperately needed a shave but he needed to check on his patient first.

He and Draco had eaten the companionable late supper or possibly it was an early breakfast, and Harry was encouraged by how well they'd got along. In fact, it had almost felt like a date but for the fact Draco was in a bathrobe, sitting on the edge of a hospital cot. When Draco finally lay down and fell asleep, Harry had stayed, just watching him, for a long time before finding his own bed. 

He ran his hand through hair he knew was undoubtedly a disaster as he stood and made his way out of his rooms. He approached Draco's cot and stopped abruptly. It was empty. He turned in place, freezing when he saw the door to the loo was closed. 

He knocked lightly on the door. "Draco?"

"Sorry, he's dead," came a weary voice from behind the door. "I'm just waiting for an invitation to the headless hunt, now."

Harry smiled. "You still have your head, which instantly disqualifies you."

"I'm certain I could convince Nick to take it off for me." Harry heard the water running, then the door opened. Draco looked tired, but better. "And the way it feels right now, that could only be an improvement. And Seriously? This exhaustion just from going to the loo is ridiculous."

"I know. But like I told you…"

"It gets better." 

They said the words together, Draco scowling. "Not quickly enough."

"By this time tomorrow, I swear you'll be feeling a hundred times better."

"I’m going to hold you to that, Potter. Being my Healer, you should know Malfoys are very poor sports when disappointed."

Harry grinned. "I believe after knowing you for as long as I have, I was already aware of that."

Draco took a step out of the door then stopped abruptly, closing his eyes, his hand going out as if to brace against the wall. Harry caught it instead. 

"Easy," Harry said. "I’ve got you."

"I can do it," Draco snapped, but he swayed.

"Is that right?" Harry slipped his arm around Draco’s slender waist. "Put your arm around my shoulders."

"Can’t you hear?" Draco said, his brow furrowed, clearly irritated. "I said I can do it, and I don’t need to be coddled like some third year. Gods, Potter. Just let me do it and save your hero complex for someone who needs it."

Harry gripped the back of Draco’s bathrobe when he tried to step away. "So, what? I’m supposed to let you fall and break something?"

"I’m not going to fall. I managed to make it into the loo. I can make it back."

Harry stared into the angry, pale, resolute face and felt a strange fondness fill him. He liked the prissy, pissy git. A lot. He released the back of his bathrobe and took a step away. "Fine."

Instantly, Draco stumbled, his arms shooting out and his face showing his alarm. Harry caught him and tried very hard not to look superior, his hands circling Draco’s ribcage. Draco looked at him, his lips tight.

"I really hate you." 

But he didn’t. Harry could see it in his eyes. He didn’t hate Harry any more than Harry hated him. Acting on instinct, Harry slid his arms around to Draco’s back, taking a step in closer and curling his hands into the back of the bathrobe.

"What are you doing?" Draco looked down at him, his eyes wide. He was a couple of inches taller than Harry, and Harry tilted his head back, meeting his gaze. 

Harry stepped in closer, until their chests pressed together.

"Potter…"

"Shut up."

Harry angled his head up and to the side, and caught Draco’s mouth just as he started to make another remark. Instead, Draco gasped, and Harry took advantage of his open mouth, sliding his tongue along the inside of his lower lip.

Draco’s entire body went rigid. Harry opened his hands, sliding them closer to his spine, his fingers pressing in. It took another couple of moments, but then Draco made a sound in the back of his throat and he angled his head, his lips moving against Harry’s in a gentle caress.

Finally, Harry pulled back, his eyes opening. Draco was a bit slower, but then they were staring into one another’s eyes.

"I believe," Draco said, sounding breathless, "that I could make a case for malpractice."

Harry laughed. "You probably could, if you wanted to." He held Draco’s gaze. "But you don’t."

"You’ve always been insufferable," Draco sighed, but his tone was in opposition to the words. He almost sounded… gentle.

Harry lifted a hand and pushed Draco’s soft fringe back from his forehead. "Well, you’d know all about being insufferable." He kissed Draco again, his lips lingering, his hand slipping to the back of Draco’s head and his fingers spearing into his hair. This kiss was longer, searching, tongue’s slipping gently together. Harry’s heart kicked against his ribs when one of Draco’s hands slid around his waist. When this kiss ended, Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s shoulder with a sigh.

"Potter, you know this is impossible."

"I don’t know any such thing," Harry replied, his palm sliding to the back of Draco’s neck. "We won’t be the first couple on staff at Hogwarts."

Draco lifted his head, looking surprised. "Is that what we’re going to be? A couple?"

Their eyes met and held again. "I hope so," Harry said finally. "I don’t think you’re exactly one off material, at least not for me."

Draco stared into his face for so long that Harry began to feel nervous. Finally, he licked his lips. "I don’t believe you’re a one off for me, either," he said softly. "Merlin help me."

Draco sagged against him and Harry stiffened his legs. "Come on, let’s get you back to bed."

Draco slipped his arm around Harry’s shoulders and they moved slowly across the room, until Harry could lower him gently back onto the bed. Draco lay back against his pillow with a sigh, but when Harry tried to straighten he wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, pulling him down. They kissed again, for a long time before Harry pulled back slightly. 

"Oh, Potter," Draco breathed, his hand in Harry’s hair. 

"I do have a first name, you know," Harry said with a slight smile. "It’s Harry."

Draco’s nose wrinkled. "I’ve never thought it suited you, somehow," he said. "But then, James doesn’t seem to either. I suppose 'Harry’ will grow on me, rather like you have." He sighed. "Like mold."

Harry laughed, his forehead coming to rest in the middle of Draco’s chest.

~~@@~~

Three weeks had passed since his accident. Draco had convinced the Headmistress not to expel the students responsible for his hospitalization, but it hadn't been easy. The combined spells the boys had used were bordering on illegal, but Draco appealed to Minerva's forgiving side and they had been allowed to stay. Although given they all were to serve detention every Friday evening until the end of the school year, he wasn't sure they were best pleased after all.

Draco stood in the entrance hall beneath a great swag of cedar garland festooned with gold balls and gold ribbon, listening to a fairy choir serenade about blessing the magical hearths in all the land. Their high voices floated above the sound of excited students as they gathered with their luggage, waiting for the sleighs that took them to the station so they could take the Hogwarts Express home for the holidays. He smiled at the students who wished him a happy holiday, those who dared at any rate. His survival of the curses and potion accident had somehow taken on mythic proportions, and particularly the fourth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs now lived in terror of him. He found the whole thing terribly amusing. 

A dark red jumper caught his eye from across the huge space and he arched his neck to see better, but it wasn’t the person he sought and he sighed in disappointment. He knew Harry was down at the stable with Hagrid, making certain that the carriages arrived on time, but he hadn’t seen his partner since before six that morning, when Draco’d finally left Harry's rooms in the hospital wing. He would never admit it to a living soul, but Draco felt as if he spent half his time trying to find that tousled dark head in a crowd. He was humiliatingly fond of Potter, so much so he might almost say he was in love with him. Almost.

"All right, you lot," Hagrid’s voice suddenly boomed from beside the towering doors. "Six to a carriage, first years first and then so on."

The sixth and seventh years grumbled, but they were used to the drill by now. They didn’t require the same level of supervision the babies did. In fact, some of them were leaving to walk down to the gates so that they could Apparate home from there. Draco managed to line all of the first years up with a few words and a level stare, and they began to move slowly through the doors. 

"Happy holidays, Professor Malfoy."

He turned and managed a smile for Corinne Middlemas and her friend, Everett. "Same to you, ladies."

"Are you going to be joining your family?" she asked coyly. 

"No, I’ll be remaining here. It’s just mother and my aunt and cousin, and they’re going to Bavaria for the holidays."

She frowned. "I hate to think of you being here alone."

"I won’t be," he assured her before she could invite him to join her family, again. "I’m not the only member of staff remaining here." He gestured around the hall. "And it’s hardly a bad place to be for Christmas."

"And the professor is right, Corinne," Everett said with what Draco thought was an unattractively sly look. "I understand Professor Potter is remaining here for the holidays."

Draco gave her a narrow-eyed look. "I wouldn’t know."

She smirked. "No, of course not."

Draco thought Everett bore more careful watching after the New Year.

He bid the ladies good-bye when it was finally their turn to board their sleigh, watching as they walked out into the snow morning. He could hear the sleigh bells ringing on the cold morning air and he pulled the collar of his robes up around his neck when a breeze slipped through the hall. It wasn’t much longer before all of the students who were leaving for the holiday were gone, and the few remaining had drifted to the Great Hall for breakfast. Draco looked around, frowning when he still didn’t see Harry anywhere. If the idiot got stepped on by one of the massive beasts that were kept on the grounds, just for this time of year, he vowed he wouldn't even feel sorry for him.

He had climbed the massive staircase that led to the main level and was walking down the deserted hallway toward his quarters when a hand shot out of a broom cupboard and grabbed his arm, yanking him into the small dark space and slamming the door.

"What the fuck…" Draco burst out.

"Such language, Professor," a smooth voice said in the dark. Draco’s eyes began to adjust to the dark and he saw a glint of light shine off of the top of a pair of gold rimmed spectacles. 

"I’ll speak any way I please when you yank me into a stuffy broom cupboard," Draco said, but didn’t argue when Harry’s arms encircled his waist. "And where have you been?"

"One of the horses stepped on Hagrid’s foot and I needed to wrap it," Harry answered. Draco shivered when he felt soft lips on the side of his throat. He angled his head to one side, one of his hands drifting down to curve over Harry’s arse. Merlin, the man had a spectacular arse. He chuckled.

"I was certain it was you under those hooves," Draco murmured, feeling Harry’s fingers on the front of his robes, working buttons. 

"Not me. I stay away from the beasts. The thestrals are friendlier."

Draco shuddered, still unnerved by the emaciated creatures Harry had introduced him to. "If you say so. By the way," he said conversationally. "What exactly are you doing?"

Harry pushed Draco’s outer robes aside, his fingers moving to the buttons down the front of his slacks. "Don’t tell me you never wanted to pull one off with someone in a broom cupboard."

Draco chuckled. "Don’t tell me you’ve never _actually_ pulled one off with someone in a broom cupboard."

Harry leaned back, peering at him through the gloom. "Who?"

Draco grinned at him, squeezing his arse. "Jealous, Professor Potter?"

"Who?" Harry repeated. 

"No one you need to worry about." Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Draco rolled his. "Fine. Pucey."

"Pucey?" Harry protested, clearly remembering the Slytherin Chaser. "You could have done better than Pucey."

"I did do better than Pucey," Draco protested. "Just not in a broom cupboard. And did you bring me in here to question my school days mischief?"

Harry huffed, finishing the buttons on Draco’s trousers. "No," he said. "I brought you in here for this."

He slipped his extremely talented fingers through the opening of Draco’s trousers, then his pants, and slipped his half hard cock out into the cool air of the cupboard. There was a moment’s fumbling, then Draco felt Potter’s stiff cock against his own and he groaned softly. 

"Oh, that’s lovely," Draco sighed.

"Isn’t it?" Harry’s mouth was back against Draco’s neck and Draco felt his lips pulling against his skin.

"No marks," he scolded.

"You’ve three weeks for them to fade."

"Oh, for fuck’s sakes, you delinquent."

"Stop complaining, you prig. You like it."

"Arse."

"Pain in mine."

Draco couldn’t help it. He laughed. 

"You are not approaching this seduction in the proper spirit, Professor Malfoy."

"Oh, pardon me. Is that what this is? I wasn’t certain."

"Hey!"

Draco snorted and batted Harry’s hands away, taking their cocks together into one of his and stroking firmly from base to tip.

"Oh, Gods. That’s brilliant."

There wasn’t much conversation after that. Draco moved his hand skillfully over them, stroking firmly, a quick twist at the top. Harry pushed Draco’s slacks down far enough to reach into them, reaching around behind him and insinuating his finger into the crease in his arse, finding the furled flesh and pressing against it. Draco gasped, beginning to move his hips forward into his hand and back into Harry’s. 

It didn’t take long after that. Between Harry’s fingers and Harry’s mouth on his throat, and Harry fucking his fist, his cock moving alongside Draco’s, Draco’s orgasm was almost embarrassingly quick. The only thing that kept it from being embarrassing was the fact that Harry came almost immediately after Draco did, and they stood in the stuffy cupboard in the aftermath, leaning against one another, breathing heavily.

"Gods, I love you."

Draco stiffened, blinking. "What?"

Harry’s deep breath was so loud Draco heard it. "I said I love you. I do, you know."

Draco swallowed. "I do know," he said. "And… I love you, too." Harry’s arms tightened around him. "I just hadn’t imagined saying it for the first time in a dark cupboard with your spunk on my hand."

Harry laughed, his head resting on Draco’s shoulder. "You could do worse."

Draco huffed, searching for a handkerchief in his pockets, finding it and cleaning himself off, then handing it over to Harry. "I supposed," he drawled, tucking himself away and doing up his trousers.

"How about this?" Harry said, holding out the handkerchief. Draco took it between his thumb and index finger and dropped it into a bucket near their feet. "Oh, that will be nice for the house-elves to find. Anyway, how about I take you out to dinner in Hogsmeade and I’ll tell you I love you by candlelight."

Draco angled his head to one side. "Really?"

"Really. I’ve already asked Rosmerta to have her cook make Shepherd’s pie, and I owl-ordered a bottle of your favourite wine."

"Why Potter," he said, smiling. "You surprise me."

Harry gave an abbreviated bow. "I live to serve."

Draco kissed him quickly. "I advise you to cling to that sentiment."

Harry grinned. "Oh, I plan to. Now, let’s get out of here. It smells like someone just had sex."

"I can’t think why."

Harry laughed, opened the door to peek out, then grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him out into the hall, clearly delighted that they’d managed to get away with it.

They were headed out that evening, hand in hand, when one of the school’s barn owls dipped low in front of them, dropping a scroll. Harry caught it neatly out of the air, reading the salutation. 

"It’s for both of us," he said with a frown, then slipped the ribbon off of it and unrolled it. Draco watched him read it, then was startled when Harry began to laugh, the sound ringing.

"What?"

Harry handed it to him, still chuckling. Draco straightened the parchment, turning it to read.

 _Gentlemen,_ it said, _I have this afternoon had a complaint from the house-elves about certain **items** being found where they do not belong. For future reference, if you do not wish for those items to be identified, it would behoove you not to leave behind one that is monogrammed. Sincerely, Headmistress McGonagall. ___

__"Oh, Morgana's saggy knickers," Draco moaned. "I will never be able to look the woman in the face again."_ _

__Harry threw his arm around Draco’s shoulders, urging him down the path that led to the village. "Oh, admit it," he said, kissing the side of Draco’s head. "This is hilarious."_ _

__"Mother would be positively mortified."_ _

__"So, don’t tell her."_ _

__"Oh, trust me. Not in this lifetime."_ _

__Harry’s laughter was so contagious, it wasn’t long before Draco’s joined it ringing out on the cold night air._ _

____

finis

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [livejournal](https://hd-erised.livejournal.com/90801.html). ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised@livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 8th.


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